The Forgotten Night
by aimless.endeavours
Summary: EXCERPT: Something warm and moving hit her feet. She pivoted to the ground immediately, and her forehead struck what seemed to be skin. Her eyes bolted open – wide and alert – while torrents of pain rushed through her skull. Jaw set slightly ajar, her brown eyes gazed deeply into emerald ones – eyes that were stricken with equal surprise. SWAN QUEEN, RATINGS CHANGED TO M
1. Prologue

_This is my first Once Upon a Time fanfic. None of the characters are owned by me, obviously – unless they're O.C. Also, I apologize if I've wasted your time once you're done reading what work I've managed to write up until now. As for updates, they may not be regular – as my creative juices flow in the most unexpected of times. However, I am greatly absorbed in this fic right now, and I hope my feeling towards it remains so as time continues. _

_I will stop rambling now, and take note that my Author's Notes will be at the bottom of the page after this first little excerpt. _

_Enjoy, and remember – your feedback is greatly appreciated! Chapter 1 is done, and is being edited. It is longer than the prologue, because I've chosen to make the prologue short – since, well – it's the prologue. :) _

* * *

**~ Prologue ~**

It was a hushed night, silent like death.

Wild grass had left their stains on the edges of her pants by the time she had successfully reached her destination. A marble tomb, polished and beautifully carved, welcomed a frequent and its only visitor. Like a ragdoll – boneless – the woman flopped to the ground, her knees brushing against the harsh stone floor – bruising, and a small sound, almost likened to a child's whimper left her plump lips. "Father," she said, nearly like a plea to the Angel of Death – a plea that she knew had never been answered and never would be. "I'm sorry…" she whispered, as she had countless times before. "I'm sorry…" those words wafted in her cold, damp surroundings.

A few minutes then passed– they were silent, tranquil yet cold, but were soon shattered: "I miss you_,_" she murmured, her hands were polishing fictional dust off the smooth marble of his tomb. Inclining her forehead against her father's tomb, she awaited a reply, though she knew how foolish she was for doing so.

And as expected, her father had remained soundless, for he lay dead - slain by his own flesh and blood.

By her…

For her soul's peace, but peace had never come.

A tear escaped her midnight eyes, while her slender hand tightly wrapped around the tip of a glass bottle of whiskey. It was an act of such immense disrespect to bring liquor to a dead man's grave, you would think – and mind you, she knew it too.

But she needed it.

Would you deprive one of their only medicine?

Her throat sizzled and burned as the liquor made its way through, and just silence passed, while her head was perched against her father's tomb – the closest she could get to an embrace. She felt so naked – vulnerable – while she let the liquid poison her mind into a state of numbness. Her lips then parted faintly open, the smell of liquor whooshed through them: "_Daddy_, tell me – I beg of you..." she pleaded, inebriated and longing for his advice. "She," she murmured, almost choking while referring to her mother, "has returned … and Daddy – I am so..." she was searching for the right words...

After a long pregnant pause, her voice filled the crypt again. ''...Confused."

A soft sob then left her lips as she rolled her eyes back, and another small tear trickled down her eyes while she unearthed another word…

"...Afraid," she whispered, her voice like wind rustling through the still crypt.

She then choked as she drowned herself into her secretive collapse: "Daddy – Da – Oh," she croaked; the Evil Queen was now nothing more than a frightened little girl, and she knew it too – oh, how it pained her to know. "Oh gods – Daddy – " she rambled incoherently as tears rained down her splendid face from her ebony eyes, and her armour – reserved for only the dead man in the tomb – fell.

* * *

Tired of all having the expectations and hopes of all on her shoulders, Emma Swan had needed to numb her mind. Thus, though a dark cloud lay over Storybrooke, Ruby was busy sedating her friend, reluctantly. "I think you've had too many, Em," Ruby finally remarked. Nervously, Ruby grabbed the last bottle of vodka off the counter at Granny's Diner, curious and worried over why Emma had drowned herself so into alcohol. "As a friend, I'm asking you – _imploring _– you've had far too much to drink, Em," she further continued.

The blonde glared at the brunette inertly with her emerald eyes for a few minutes, before a frown fluttered across her face as a moment of lucidity swept through her languid and liquor infected mind – she had realized Red was right – she needed to get home. Trying best to seem stirring and roused, Emma smiled at Ruby and whispered, "Thanks Red," then dipped her hands into her pockets, found the pocket that harbored her wallet, lifted it, and began to search for the necessary amount of cash for the … she paused, thinking lord knows how many bottles of vodka she had consumed.

"It's alright, Em. It's on the house, just get home, safely." Ruby smiled, concerned, as she cleaned dirty dishes. While placing a clean plate in a cupboard, she then offered, "I should drive you home, the diner's closing soon anyway."

Emma grinned back while trying best to remain on her two feet.

"Sounds good?" Ruby inquired, turning her attention away from the dishwasher to Emma, who stood stagnant behind the counter.

Ruby's words had taken a few seconds to sink into Emma's drowsed mind. "Oh – no – no," Emma hastily replied. "I'm fine, Red," she stated, but her brunette friend looked unconvinced, so she continued, "I don't live far from here anyway, it's just a ten minute walk. I won't drive – I'll take a walk. It might sober me up a bit."

Ruby sighed at the blonde's obstinacy, but after a few more minutes spent in being persuaded, Emma was free to go on her own.

As she strode down the sidewalk, the harsh wind nearly scraped her skin. She shut her eyes tight while walking forwards with great effort, and her inebriated mind was not of any help. "Oh God. Damnit," she cried when she nearly toppled over and fell as she reached Snow's abode.

Only she stopped in her tracks, and clung onto the stairs leading to her and her mother's shared apartment.

She didn't want to be seen this way.

* * *

Through her hazed mind, Regina tried to find her trail back to the cemented and paved roads from the hidden crypt. The large, lush trees loomed above her, and they swished this way and that, like an eerie dance to the songs of the ghostly winds.

Her hands, moving as though she was swimming in deep blue water, cleared the way for her. Her pulse drummed in her ears as the damp muddied ground beneath her pressed against her feet – her shoes, designer but just made out of cloth, had soaked the remnants of water left on the ground after the heavy showering of the mourning clouds the day before. She knew she should've worn something more fitting for the weather – but she had been in a rush – a rush to get out – to get out…

Something warm and moving hit her feet. She pivoted to the ground immediately, and her forehead struck what seemed to be skin. Her eyes bolted open – wide and alert – while torrents of pain rushed through her skull. Jaw set slightly ajar, her brown eyes gazed deeply into emerald ones – eyes that were stricken with equal surprise. She tried best to keep her head upright through her intoxicated senses, and her hands held firmly onto the other woman's shoulders for balance, while she tried to make sense of what had just occurred through her dazed mind.

The woman below her had her lips slightly parted open – the smell of intoxication oozed from her mouth. Incoherent mumbles and words dropped and tumbled out before they turned comprehensible: "What the – " the woman mumbled sluggishly.

'Emma Swan,' the name dropped into Regina's mind for a brief second.

"_Regina_?!" Emma suddenly managed to roar in shock. Her breath, reeking of alcohol, hit Regina's nostrils, and Regina's nose not only upturned but it caused her to somehow adhere to a faint shard of her higher brain.

'Emma Swan,' the name now clung onto her thoughts, without waning this time around.

Regina finally hissed. It didn't occur to her then that Emma had somehow managed to pass the magical wards she had placed near and around her father's crypt, for she was far too deeply entrenched in ire to think straight. "Like a hound, prying around in the wee hours of morning around town, are we Ms. Swan?" Regina spat, trying best to hide her level of intoxication while still atop of a bewildered Emma.

However, they say truths divulge when one is drunk, and so could have not been truer in this particular circumstance that had befallen on the two females.

* * *

Soft silken sheets were wrapped around Regina, and she would have slept in for the day, for her body was aching and tired, but a most dreadful sensation in her head caused her eyes to spring open.

The chandelier hanging from her white ceiling welcomed her. Few shards of rays from the window behind her closed curtains had managed to find their way into her bedroom, and were now dancing on her face. Groaning, she slipped off her bed, and noticed that she walked with a limp, also finding herself tender in the strangest of places.

She almost tripped as she walked towards her bathroom. The house was silent, and Regina's thoughts did not wander to where her mother had gone. Her mother had promised she would be different this time, though she hadn't proved it yet. Her eyes – brown like hers – were still so cold. Oh so cold. And Regina froze – still froze and felt the impelling reemergence of fear that had strangled and clutched her in her formal years.

_Vulnerable_.

She despised the word.

When she entered her bathroom, she nearly slipped on the cold laminate floor, so she quickly gripped the rim of her marble sink for balance. Dammit, she was such a wreck. Her dark eyes then slowly gazed up to the mirror above the marble bowl.

Suddenly her breath was caught in her throat.

Her chest began to deflate and rise raggedly… Oh gods, there was a bruise-like mark on the right side of her neck… almost … almost like a _love–_ … no it couldn't be.

Regina shook her head, and then hastily splashed cold water on her face several times, nearly bathing in her sink, and began to towel dry her face. As the towel reached her chin, she gazed back into the mirror – and there it still was – the wretched mark was still there.

Regina was now sure she wasn't hallucinating.

She couldn't quite recall how she had made her way back from the forest, but she was sure she must've just slipped and hit something along the way.

Yes, that was it.

And as for Emma Swan, who now slept in the comfort of her mother's apartment, she too could not evoke to mind what had happened in the latter part of the night.

* * *

_Author's Note: I chose (purposefully) to not enlighten you guys on what happened between Emma/Regina, mainly because both Emma/Regina don't remember what happened, and it'll be fun finding out what really happened alongside them, :)._

_Please leave feedback if you have anything to say. I'm not afraid of being criticized as long as your criticism is helpful and isn't plain demeaning, :P._


	2. The Flame Had Burned

_Quick update, I know, aha. _

_The story will be set during 'Welcome to Storybrooke' and afterwards. Whatever is in here from 'Welcome to Storybrooke' is taken from the promo only since the next episode hasn't yet aired. Also, I may or may not take future aspects from the show as it progresses and put it into this story. _

_Anyhow, enjoy and please do review if you have anything to say, :)._

* * *

**~ CHAPTER 1 – The Flame Had Burned ~**

At last, she had seen her mother attain a candid smile. The smile had shone beautifully on her mother's face, making her regain her youthful composure for as long as it had lingered. And it had occurred to Regina, then and there, that her mother had indeed loved her – that her mother had victimized herself by pulling her own heart out, to stop feeling, to stop hurting. But oh god, the second it all had become clear to Regina, the second Regina's shields had fallen, the second she thought she had found her 'happy ending', it was over…

Over…

Her mother had pivoted to the floor, dropped, lifeless in a few seconds while clutched snug in her daughter's arms. Regina had tried best to make her stay alive. Every ounce of magic in her veins had pulled onto her mother's essence, asking it to stay… to stay… but it had already been too late. Her mother's life had fleeted before her eyes, but not before she had said her last words – words that had rung and rung in Regina's mind a thousand million times over, and were still ringing: "This was enough, you were enough," Cora had said, warmly – truly.

Hot tears suddenly seeped from her eyes as the recollection left more piercing marks within her damned heart, while she was seated crouched in her living room with her son's pictures pinned on nearly every inch of the nearest wall.

She let out a mirthless chuckle.

The child she had pampered, loved with all her heart, had left because he viewed her as the Evil Queen. Wicked. Evil. Immoral. Disdainful. And yet, this despicable creature had somehow had the heart to care for the tiny tot, who'd die if not fed, if not cared for – if not loved. And yet, he thought of her as cold? No, she was not cold. She was not ice. She was the warm flame of a candle – once burning bright, but now with its last wax – if any wax all…

Waning, and to be burned out soon... but not before she had had her vengeance.

A knocking suddenly alarmed her. Her notice darted towards her front door, while she continued to sit crouched in her fetal position, her back against her sofa, still in the clothes her dying mother had had her final breathing rest on. Her eyebrows crumpled, Regina knew fully well word of her mother's death, and the manner in which she had died must have already gone throughout town.

Was this Sydney? Regina had preferred him within a mirror, frankly.

Minutes had now passed, and the individual knocking had proved themselves persistant and unrelenting. Were they so daft as to not note she cared not to open the door? Yet, the knocking continued, and Regina, feeling frustrated, got up to open the door to dismiss this fool.

"Who's there?!" she almost hissed, as she flung her front-door open.

_Ah_, Snow White.

A sudden smirk inadvertently creeped up on Regina's face as Snow's lips began to part open. Her eyes, so sincere and grief-stricken – so pathetic – almost glistened with tears, but they were fixated on Regina's ebony eyes, and Regina was unaware that Snow could see the red rims around her dark pools.

Snow had seen Regina cry – _just_ twice.

Once as a child, when passing Regina's chamber when she had been newlywed, and just a few hours ago, when Regina had been straddling her dying mother to her chest.

Snow had always known Regina was not wholly made of stone, but it had become more evident – now more than ever, and so she began: "Regina…" but she faltered.

Meanwhile, Regina stared fixedly at her, the smirk widening even more as her eyes fleetingly darted towards the _princess's _chest – oh it was so easy… so very easy. Why had she never done this before? Damn the consequences!

The decision was made, engraved in Regina's mind.

Her magic could feel Snow's pulse, beating…beating…beating.

This was going to be glorious.

While tilting her head slightly sideways, Regina found Snow flinching, feeling intimidated by her hawk-like glare. "Regina," Snow began again, faintly gulping. "We have been fighting for so long," she took in a deep sigh. "It has to end before anyone else dies."

Why in the world would pretty little Snow assume she cared if anyone else died?

Regina grinned, wildly and coolly, and neared her face to Snow's who tried best not to recoil. 'Run Snow. Run now before it's too late,' Regina silently thought, as she gathered her magic and willed it to do what she most yearned. When done, Regina stated darkly, "I will have my vengeance." Before Snow could retreat, Regina's slender hand thrust into her chest in one mighty drive, in what seemed to be have been one milli of a second. Her heart was beating rapidly, trying its best to remain with its owner, but it was withdrawn effortlessly.

The Queen smirked. "Thanks to you," she whispered to fearful eyes.

* * *

It was odd, still so odd referring to them as 'Mom' and 'Dad', and it was even more peculiar knowing her parents were biologically younger than her, but nonetheless Emma was grateful. But there was a hole. A void in her heart, and a coldness – a coldness built and hardened by the years spent in abuse, in foster care, jumping from one home to the next. And the years spent in becoming distrustful would not vanish overnight. It would take time, or perhaps always be there.

But it was also why Emma was so great at catching lies, and yet at the same time, Emma sometimes preferred being lied to without knowing she had been deceived.

Especially right now.

Her mother had told her she would be going over to the dwarfs, for her mother had been and ever was close to them.

Emma had known her mother was lying, but hadn't probed her further, knowing it had been quite a rough day. Nonetheless, Emma had said, "I'm going with you," worried that her mother would fall prey to Regina's retaliation.

"No honey," Snow had replied, as she had walked out the door. "I can protect myself, and besides they don't live far away."

Emma had seen it – _the lie –_ her mother was being dishonest. "No, I'm coming with you, Mary–_Snow–_ah_, _Mom."

"No, Emma," her mother had replied, firmly. "I am going – _alone_," she had stated, and had nearly slipped into her imperial ways when she had said, "Leave me be, child."

And so now, Emma was worried while sitting at the dinner table, as her equally anxious son walked in circles around her – which wasn't helping with her unease, by the way. She was also fretting over her relationship with her father, worrying it might have deteriorated, for earlier today, James had bellowed, clearly enraged: "I can't believe you let her out!"

"She's a grown woman!" Emma had protested. "What would you have liked me to do?"

"She's not stable right now – emotionally. She's just killed someone—"

"Who _fucking_ deserved to die!" Emma had countered back, frustrated.

James had then let out a breath, though indifferent to her vulgar language. "You don't know that Emma..."

Currently, it had been more than a few hours, and word had come that her mother wasn't with any one of the dwarfs. Biting her lips while unconsciously tapping her fingers on the dinner table in anxiety, Emma looked across to Henry who continued to walk back and forth across the kitchen. "Are you hungry, kid?" she inquired.

Henry shook his head, clearly irritated that he had been asked such a question in such a circumstance.

"You should sit down," Emma said after a brief moment of silence, while pulling out the chair to her right.

"It's okay," Henry replied, still walking around in circles.

Emma sighed. "She's going to be fine. Don't worry, kid."

Henry didn't believe her white lie. He stopped marching around the kitchen, and stood stagnant before, facing her with green veins marginally exposed through the skin of his small forehead. "Then why have both my grandfathers and my _father_ gone outside to find her?!" he asked with a sigh, and the sigh had starkly resembled the one his mother had produced a few second prior. His eyes slightly averted her gaze when he spoke again: "You know, _Emma_, you should've learned by now to stop lying," and with that, he darted out of the kitchen, nearly flying to his room.

She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath, and continued to sit silently, hurt – though she wouldn't admit it – by Henry's words. A whisper left her lips, "I did it to protect you." Then, after hastily eyeing the clock, Emma took in another breath. She was getting impatient. Her father and Neal–_uh–_Bae had said to stay in with Henry – but she knew she had to go. She would never be content with herself if she didn't, for if something had happened to her mother… _no_, she stopped her thoughts from darkening.

"Kid, I'm going outside. Don't go anywhere!" she shouted loudly before rushing out the door.

Within the next hour, Emma had visited every store, nook and cranny of Storybrooke that her mother frequently visited. James, Gold and Bae had seemed to have already gone to most of these places, and soon it occurred to Emma that her mother would be in the oddest of places. '_Hell_,' Emma thought, while standing next to a flower shop she had just exited. 'The only place left is Regina's.' And her mother wasn't insane to have…

Then it suddenly hit her.

'Fuck,' was all she could think.

She bolted, and neared Regina's mansion panting. The mansion was now just minutes away, she could see her mother knocking on the door – but, _Oh god_, as Emma ran forwards, she realized it was further than she had initially assumed. She continued to storm, but couldn't near it in time. Her mother was persistently beating the door with her fist.

Then, the door suddenly sprang open.

There was Regina.

And it happened, quicker than Emma had assumed it would: Regina within seconds plunged her hand into her mother's chest.

Emma's knees immediately buckled, and she fell to the ground, her knees brushing against the cement, bruising and staining with droplets of blood. Her vision began to blur. 'Because of me. All because of me,' she kept on repeating in her head, blaming herself for what she believed to be her mother's death, but then…

"REGINA?!" she heard a voice. A voice she shouldn't have heard.

Her emerald eyes darted up. Regina was falling to the ground, the glimmering heart in her hand was slithering away from her grasp. And her mother had stood still, silent – Snow had used no force. She couldn't, not with her heart clenched in someone's hands.

What had happened?!

"MOM!" Emma called, no longer did the word feel odd on her tongue. She was scared. Petrified. "MOM!" she yelled louder this time, but her mother was too awestruck – for some reason concerned for the woman who had nearly killed her, and amazed that she had somehow managed to escape again from the jaws of death. Snow White was just too lucky. Emma swore – her mother's luck could one day just run ou– '_No!'_

"MOM!" Emma screamed as she stormed up the steps of Regina's mansion to reach her mother.

Snow slowly looked around, her face pale. She then dropped to the ground and her hands trembled as she picked her heart from the green lawn beside the porch on which it had fallen. She glared at it. Her mouth slightly parted open. "I – I almost died," she whispered, nearly saying it to herself to make herself believe it – what had happened was too surreal – too unreal.

Her thoughts had collided to a stop when Regina's hand had thrust into her chest.

And now after the great pause, her thoughts were whirling, and she was overwhelmed. While holding her shimmering heart in her hand, while trembling and sitting on her knees, Snow stared back at Emma – "The hollowness," she said, placing her shaky finger above her chest. "Nothing."

With those words heard, Emma immediately slumped to the ground beside her mother, embraced her, and began to rub her back. She whispered in her ears, "You better go to Mr. Gold. He'll know what to do." Emma then turned her attention to the unconscious woman near them, lying facedown on the ground: "And as for me," she said through compressed teeth, "I'll deal with this."

Sluggishly, Snow nodded while still holding her daughter taut. "Be careful, honey," she whispered back in Emma's ears before letting go.

* * *

"You can't be serious."

But Dr. Whale was most definitely serious. He nodded grimly and passed Emma the folder with _her_ blood work results and a small, grainy, black and white picture as well. And there it was, within the picture was a very small silhouette of an infant, circled by Dr. Whale with a red marker too. It was unmistakable.

"She is nearly two months along, and she's highly anemic. I firmly believe it's why she fell unconscious," Dr. Whale explained, then quickly added, "and thankfully at the right moment too."

Emma's hands began to tremble as she handed the picture and folder back to Dr. Whale. "I – uh – " she was speechless.

A nurse walked into the office. "_She _is stirring, Doctor."

Dr. Whale nodded towards her while Emma gulped in, as memories reeled into her head - of her carrying Henry to term while in prison. Silently, she followed Dr. Whale to the room in which Regina was admitted in, but decided to stand outside at its threshold. "I'll stay here," she whispered, her voice thin.

What kind of charges was she to press against Regina – _Attempted Murder by Magical Means_? Emma dryly chuckled at the thought. And besides, it wasn't as if Regina would be able to go to larger prisons outside of Storybrooke, for if she crossed the line – she would lose all her memories adhering to the world she had originated from, and therefore would be blameless for the crimes she had committed.

Truth was, Regina would be able to roam free after her attempt at killing Snow. Emma began to brush her hair with her fingers while she suddenly heard footsteps scrambling in full force towards her.

"Emma?" a small voice called.

Her hand fell abruptly to her side, and she looked to her right. She managed to smile somewhat when she found Henry's familiar face. "Hey kiddo," she whispered.

"You're alright?" Henry asked. His eyes were rimmed red.

Emma scooted her eyebrows. "Hey kid, are you okay?"

"Yes, I just – I heard what happened – and I wasn't particularly nice to you the last time we were together," his face paled. "…I mean, what if this had been the last time…since grandma almost… I thought if something like that had happened to you… " His voice trailed off while his shoulders slumped down. "I'm sorry."

A faint warm feeling flurried through Emma, though coldness still shackled her – the image of her mother walking on the edge of life was still replaying and rerunning in her mind.

Kneeling down, she hugged Henry. After she withdrew him from the tight embrace, she held his shoulders, still stooping down to match his height, and smiled while staring at his eyes – eyes that were so like his father's – but he was nothing like him, gratefully. "Hey, I should be apologizing, kiddo. Not you. I lied to you, and it was a _major_ lie. I'm sorry. I really am, but I just …" she took in a deep sigh, and then continued after catching her breath, "I just wanted to protect you – your father wasn't necessarily a hero…" _He was a coward. _

Henry started to look perplexed.

"Anyway, we'd better get going!" Emma grinned, knowing it was unproductive to wait for Regina and imprison her – no good could become of it. She continued to change the subject hastily: "We should get back home. Your grandmother needs us right now."

Her son then returned a genuine smile and nodded. Turning around, he waited for his mother to follow him, but Emma stood for a second more, and found the door to the room Regina had been admitted in halfway open. Peering in, Emma found Dr. Whale standing before Regina, blocking Emma from sighting confusion mingled with fear conveyed through the Dark Queen's habitually icy, ebony eyes.

"Hey?!" a small voice called, interrupting her thoughts.

Emma rapidly turned around, gazing at where the voice had issued, and found Henry waiting patiently for her beside the exit that led out of the emergency unit. "Coming!" she quickly answered, managing a smile, while pondering…

Who in Storybrooke could have sired Regina's unborn child?

* * *

A timid nurse, undetected, stood by the door and hurriedly opened it, scampering out to inform Dr. Whale that Regina had awakened while Regina sluggishly began to inspect herself and her surroundings – quickly finding a tube running into her vein. Her eyes trailed the tube to where it had begun and found a plastic bag harboring red blood beside her bedside, dangling near her head. It took a few minutes for comprehension to dawn on her.

And then anger began to brew through her veins. She was so close. So close to ending _her _life, but fate and destiny had never worked with her. Her chest felt heavy and she shut her eyes and replayed what had _almost _occurred; her foe's final defeat…

"Thanks to you," she had said, smirking while Snow's heart had been beating within her hold.

Then she had clutched the glowing, red heart – just to hear Snow gasp once more. The yearn was great, she had called on her magic to turn Snow's heart to dust, but her head had begun to pound with each chord of magic that had commenced to burn through her veins, and Snow's face had soon begun to blur, the fear in her eyes becoming hard to perceive. Regina in seconds began to stagger, though she tried best to stay erect. She continued to call onto her magic, feeling it brew inside her, and awaken to its highest awareness, but her surroundings continued to swirl into darkness, and soon her eyes could not perceive a thing. Her legs had wobbled, and she could feel Snow's heart falling from her grasp – fate knocking her over again – and her knees giving way.

The next thing she recalled was her forehead as it had knocked against the hard, sun-kissed ground, and the warm liquid that had quickly followed – how it had drizzled down her forehead, touching her lips, and rather tasting like copper…

"Mayor Mills," she heard a masculine voice.

Regina's eyes started open, and she squinted a few times as her vision cleared. She leaned her back against the bed's headboard, while the white robe of the man nearing her began to sharpen into view. Slowly, she gazed up at his face – it was Dr. Whale. She nodded, affirming his presence. "Yes?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "And _why_ do I have this nuisance attached to me, Dr. Whale?" she inquired, referring to the tube transferring blood into her vein.

Dr. Whale plastered a professional smile across his face. "You are _highly_ anemic, hence your red blood cell count is low, Mayor Mills. Have you been eating well – eating sufficient iron-rich food?"

Regina shrugged and looked away from Dr. Whale briefly, she noticed a device in the room... it was undoubtedly there from the last patient admitted, she thought. Then, she contemplated over Dr. Whale's query – she hadn't had much of an appetite lately. "When can I get home?" she asked, not answering his question and clearly irritated, while hastily looking away from the ultrasound device.

"As soon as your hemoglobin level rises a tad more, and…" he paused, hesitating, his professionalism wavering.

Regina glanced up, and while she gazed at him she raised an eyebrow. "Yes? As soon as?" She sighed, further exasperated and impatient, not knowing then she would have never foretold those next words…

Dr. Whale nodded, his voice was low as he continued: "As soon as I inform you that – Mayor Mills – " he shook his head, and stopped beating around the bush. Looking straight into her eyes, he said, "Mayor Mills, you're with-child."

"Pardon?" Regina asked, tilting her head, feeling hopeful and confident that she hadn't heard him right.

Dr. Whale frowned. After clearing his throat, he repeated, "You're pregnant, Mayor Mills."

In no way was this conceivable, Regina was stunned – unable to think. Her eyes unintentionally settled on the half-open door; she spotted a tousle of blonde locks – Emma. Near her was Henry, she was sure. She did not see his face, but could see his hands wrapped around his genetic mother's back – they were his hands, she was sure – she could spot them a mile away, for she had seen them grow from little clenched fists.

Her heart scorched as a memory reeled into her mind…

"You're not my mother! Leave me alone!" Henry had screamed, stomping on the ground as he held the book Snow had given to him in class tightly against his chest, with his hands… oh his hands that were once so miniature – she would put her index finger within them, and they'd grasp it so firmly – he was so strong for his little body…

The little child that had grown in front of her, the little child who had cried during twilight for food, for warmth… for love, was now here screaming she was cold, not knowing she had pressed her stone heart, pressing it… pressing it… desperate to give him every drip of love feasible...

"You're the Evil Queen!" Henry had howled. "You're not my mother! I can go and meet Emma when I want to, so leave me alone," and with that he had dashed out of the house, turning the scarce amount of love left in her damaged heart into frost.

_No_.

She couldn't have a child. Couldn't… Couldn't. And in no way was Dr. Whale rational; there was a mistake – surely. If not, this was a trick of the gods. It was fucking fate playing with her again. She was forever their puppeteer – their form entertainment, their laughing stock.

Regina shook her head; a cheerless chuckle left her lips. "No, Dr. Whale," she stated, firmly. "This can't be possible. I haven't done anything that could cause such a..." Regina faltered as Dr. Whale arose to move the ultrasound machine towards her. And she let him – hushed as he and the machine neared her. Soon, her silken blouse was gently pulled upwards to reveal her abdomen. She closed her eyes not wanting to see … not wanting to see… but she nonetheless opened them, also not wishing to show Dr. Whale she was weak, so her cold mask lingered on her face, with such effort – she was breaking, but yet she somehow clasped securely to it.

A cold slushy liquid was coated on the smooth skin of her belly. Dr. Whale then put a device against her abdomen, and shortly asked her to look at the monitor after moving the device around her belly a few times. "Mayor Mills, there's the child," he stated, pointing at an almost human looking shape on the screen. "You're about two months along."

Her breath caught in her throat. There was no mistaking it.

She was pregnant.

Until that very second, Regina did not know that it had been possible to be even further shattered. Her nightly dark eyes remained wedged to the monitor, while her pulse rose… rose…

It was undeniable.

The flame had burned.

* * *

_Author's Note: So, what do you think? Your thoughts are appreciated, & please don't hesitate to review, :)._


	3. Too Broken to Give

**~ Chapter 2: Too Broken to Give ~**

The Mercedes came to a sudden halt, nudging her back into the leather of her seat. The engine simmered to a silence while her eyes gazed out the front window of her car at her home. The mansion, it was nothing – nothing in comparison to the grandiosity she had lived in back in the land of magic. She recalled the golden threaded curtains and ornate decorations, each worth more than the other. And yet, she did not miss one costly piece.

Taking in a small sigh, she continued to stare at the white mansion for a second more. It was the most finest and lavish of homes in Storybrooke, and yet the most desolate too. But it was better in one way – one lone way: King Leopold had never set foot in there. Thus, she would not recall the memories she had shared with him every corner she ventured to.

And Regina favored that to the extravagant curtains and decorations in the palace she had once dwelled in.

Her trembling slender hand left the steering wheel. It was time to get out, but it seemed as though she was implanted onto her seat. _Frozen_. God knows how she had managed to propel herself into her car and drive through the bleak evening roads to her home.

But she had managed it. And she had told herself: She would manage what would come as well.

And yet, a niggling thought would lay briefly dormant in her mind before awakening every two or three seconds:

_You're broken, Regina. You're broken… _

_Stop lying to yourself… _

Clasping her black, Chanel purse, Regina began to sift through it for silver keys. Huffing, as she did so. However, barely seconds passed before she came to a realization: The keys weren't inside her bag. Anxious, though not knowing why she was so nervous and fidgety over the simple displacement of her keys, Regina began to search the interior of her car. Suddenly, she heard a clinking sound from beneath, and her eyes darted to where the sound had issued. Whilst wriggling her feet and moving around, searching here and there, her feet had kicked the keys that had fallen beside the breaks when she had been… splintering into pieces as she had entered her vehicle from the hospital; her surrounding had lulled, she had plunged her key in, ignited the engine, and the keys had fallen from her grasp.

_Fallen like Snow White's heart. _

A grimace danced on her face.

Jaws clenching, her waist bended and elegant fingers gripped onto the silver keys. _Get up,_ she then told herself, like a mother would to a child.

_Child. _

Wincing, she erected herself, brushed her fingers through her hair, and turned around to open the door, when a sudden feeling began to overwhelm her. Now outside while leaning onto her door, stilettos stilled against the pavement, Regina tried to balance herself while swallowing down the bile running up her throat. Her ebony eyes sealed shut, while thinking: _Oh god. Oh god._

How could she have not realized this?

Then again, how _could_ she have known she was carrying… when she _hadn't_ done anything… when she _couldn't_ even have…?

Her trembling fingers, holding onto the top edge of her car, curled – but then relaxed as the feeling of nausea vanished. Immediately, her eyes bolted open and she let out a relieved sigh. She turned around, slammed her car's door shut, gathered her strength, and the click clacks of her heels were soon heard as she made her way down the path leading up the stairs, and eventually onto her porch.

Upon reaching her front door, knowing that in a second more she would be in the sanctuary of her home, her feet began to weaken. She wanted drop. Drown. Feel no more.

Hastily, with fingers still trembling, she opened her front door and shut it with immense force, causing a large thud to reverberate through the main floor of her mansion. As this transpired, she leaned back onto her polished wooden door, and finally let herself succumb to defeat in the privacy of her home.

She could feel _them_ – _tears_, just waiting to be released.

Her chest felt heavy and she flogged her dark hair around while rubbing her forehead with her slim, immaculate fingers, in hopes of preventing the intensifying migraine.

Regina was still trying best to clasp onto any shard of strength she could find. She was searching for the Evil Queen – the blanket of coldness she would slip into in order to skirt away from Regina Mills. So she could stand up again, walk towards her bedroom, slink under her bed sheets without a care for the world.

But the Evil Queen could not be found. And upon further hunting, neither could the refined and ever cultured Mayor Regina Mills.

Lately, at times she could not fathom who she was.

It was such a dissociative feeling, as though a third person had emerged, a person neither Regina Mills nor the Evil Queen.

This seemed to be one of those times.

She was neither yet both.

A buried memory suddenly surfaced in her mind...

_Calloused fingers ran down her slender waist. Her eyes sealed shut, tears waiting to be released, but she would not show herself as vulnerable. Those hands, with tips like jagged knives, continued to make their way down… they were now slithering down her thighs, and as they inched closer to her mound, they halted and lingered there. _

_"You are quivering!" the thick, hoarse voice, exuding with desire for a woman –_ no – _ a_ _girl decades younger bellowed. _

_A girl only seven years older than his own daughter. _

_Through clenched jaws, Regina whispered, still unsteady, "I…I am sorry _– your majesty," _and s__he had added the latter part quite abruptly, with spite that had accidently slipped through her lips. _

_It had been more than a year, almost two since King Leopold had desired a male heir. It seemed his pretty little Snow would not bode well on a throne. She was female, after all. And no matter how _fair_ and _just _King Leopold appeared to the public eye, he was still a misogynist, a sexist, and he found the fairer sex to be feeble and imprudent. _

_And within this year – almost two, Regina had not given him the privilege of gaining what he most desired. _

A son.

_At least her mother had helped her once in life – albeit indirectly – through her spell-books. _

_A small, painful smirk elicited by the thought played on Regina's face when – "Why are you sneering, you _witch_?" _

Witch.

_The word scraped the smirk off her face. _

No_. _

_Perhaps, she had used magic a handful amount of times as desperate measures. _

But she was not a witch.

She was not her mother.

_Her eyes sealed shut. _

_"Look at me. God damn it. Look at me, you useless bitch," he spat, his hands receding from her thighs, and in once sudden second, they were strangling her neck. _

_Her eyes bolted open. _

_So… once again... it seemed King Leopold gained what he had sought. He had acquired a mother for her daughter. A wife, he had likewise bought. _

_And now, she was looking at him. _

_But no… _

_She would never give him a son. _

_Though conscious that a smirk would ignite his calloused fingers to burrow deeper into the sore flesh of her neck, Regina yet smirked again, enraging the King even further… _

A faint, dry chuckle escaped her lips: How wrong had she been, even here – in her own _home_ – she had seen _him… _

Now crouched into a fetal position while still leaning against the door, Regina's pencil skirt, though covering her from waist to her knees, made her feel so bare, so naked, so vulnerable. Her head was dipped into her knees, sitting atop her folded arms. And she had let _them_ free – the _tears_ that were waiting to be released. This person, whoever she was – whether Regina Mills or the Evil Queen – had let the tears fall.

As she drowned, fell into her collapse, she mused while shaking her head, weeping audibly...

How could have this have happened? Who was this child–_bastard's _father? And the spell she had casted on herself from her mother's spell-book, the spell that had rendered her forever... barren… then how could have _this …? _

_How_?

"I can't comprehend— " her voice broke, "I can't _fucking.._." The curse murmured seemed almost unholy coming from her plump lips; but again, Regina had cursed many times, only her curses had carried much more consequences.

A sniffle echoed through the halls.

Regina couldn't do this… Be a mother, she couldn't...

God knows what had gone through her mind when she had taken in the small creature wrapped in a soft, cobalt-coloured blanket. God knows why she had fallen in love with his alert wide eyes, eyes then baby blue, with his little pink lips, his tiny fists and toes – when she had known all along love was weakness, when she had known all along what she loved most would always be taken away, leaving her…

_Broken_.

Too broken to give.

* * *

"Her apple tree is dying!" Emma had overheard one day from Grumpy who had been ordering his coffee, uttering his observation with delight to Granny. And his overjoyed statement, unsurprisingly, had been the only discussion concerning Regina that Emma had heard in all those days the mayor had been absent. It was, of course, quite understandable that residents of Storybrooke were pleased to not see their mayor roaming the streets and entering their shops. And even Emma Swan, whom by even her own unvoiced acknowledgment, should have cared less.

Only, Emma did care – undoubtedly because she knew a secret only known by two others in Storybrooke – Dr. Whale and Regina, specifically.

Many times, Emma had found herself arriving at Granny's Diner at the exact same time Regina Mills was usually seen getting her daily coffee. And each time Emma had arrived before the diner, she had found herself frustrated when she hadn't seen the familiar Mercedes' roof, shimmering beneath the sun's rays in the parking space that no one else _ever _dared to take. Not having the valor to ask any of the other townspeople if they had seen the infamous female, Emma had found herself one day trailing Dr. Whale and asking him if Regina had ever come to see him.

Bewildered, the Doctor had wondered why Emma was so keenly interested in knowing if Regina had seen him. After all, the witch had nearly murdered Emma's mother rather recently. "Uh… No, Miss. Swan," he replied, and Emma had suddenly realized she had been keeping in a hopeful breath.

"_Oh_…" was all she had whispered, before muttering an impassive 'thank you anyway' and turning away, while her hands had been dipped into the pockets of her jeans, and her mind had been plunged in thoughts of how or what Regina was doing.

Thoughts she found herself in again today as she was making lunch for Henry.

She gazed at the simple chicken bologna sandwiches she made and recalled Regina's culinary skills, within seconds she felt slightly envious and afraid that she would never be on par with Regina at being a decent mother. Emma understood nothing about parenting, and if Henry hadn't been aware that his adoptive mother was the Evil Queen, Emma was sure he would prefer living with her – after all, he had been content with her before he had received the book Snow had given him.

She shrugged her trying thoughts off as she neared Henry. He was seated still before the dinner table, eyeing his mother with a smile. She placed his plate before him, and spotted his nose turn slightly upwards – Emma couldn't help but note how she'd seen that expression quite often on Regina's face.

_Jeez, I suck at this…_

Nonetheless, she tried best to disregard what she had seen, though it was still on the back of her mind. Emma was now before the fridge, kneeling down, and inspecting its contents: "Hey kid… well, let's see –_uhhh_ – will it be orange juice or—"

"What's happened to my Moth– _Regina_?"

Emma hadn't at all been expecting to hear that.

"Oh, umm… What do you mean?" she mumbled, though she had indeed known what he had been insinuating. She tried to pretend she was busy by looking through the jars, cans and leftovers within the fridge, hoping he'd forget his muse. After a long unnerving pause, and not a word from Henry, Emma repeated with a deep breath: "So kid, will it be Orange Juice or–"

"… Is she… _okay_?" her son interrupted, not letting the conversation wander elsewhere.

Emma had noted his voice had cracked, and rarely had she heard him so troubled.

"You know how Moth–_Regina_ went to the hospital," he then continued, trying to refresh his mother's memory.

Anxiety began to take its hold on Emma as she heard the word _Mother_ slip nearly again from _her _son's lips when he had been referring to Regina.

"Did… did – well, did Dr. Whale anything _bad_?" he finally asked – a query he had been subconsciously wishing to ask for some time now.

His voice had been _so _very thin.

_Ugh. Darn it, _she cursed mentally, as she realized she couldn't overlook the dread consuming her son as she loitered to remain hushed. After quickly grasping the container that held orange juice, knowing Henry couldn't be further indifferent as to whether he had orange juice or apple juice with his bologna sandwich, Emma revolved, walked towards him and poured the fluid in his cup. "Kid, I don't know – the Doc just said she was… um anemic," she informed, knowingly leaving out the complete facts.

Upon placing the juice-box to the side of the table, Emma gazed at Henry, and noticed his eyes had widened. She couldn't help but chuckle. Her pale fingers brushed through his hair in soothing strokes, and she stooped down to meet his eye-level. "_Anemic_ just means low on iron," she explained.

But hazel eyes still expressed marginal confusion.

Emma sighed. "You know your vitamins and minerals?" she asked, and Henry nodded. "And how it's not good for you to be low on any one of them?" Henry bobbed his head up and down once again, cueing Emma to continue: "Well, iron is a mineral you get from iron-rich food, like… um beef and spinach. So, if you're low on iron, then you gotta eat those kinda foods or… uh you take a supplement. And then, sooner or later, you'll be _fine_," she finished clarifying.

_Fine_ – hearing the word caused his muscles to relax. "Oh, I see," he declared with a relieved grin.

Smiling back, she mumbled, "Great," feeling glad their discussion over Regina had ended.

Only, she had been wrong.

Soon, she noticed another look – an expression signifying nothing bar than concern washing over her son's features. "What's wrong, kid?" she questioned, as she slid into an adjacent chair, and took a glimpse of his untouched bologna sandwich. Minutes had passed since she had put it before him, and she couldn't help but ponder if he would have finished his lunch by now if the bologna sandwich had been replaced with _her _cooking.

Henry, noticing his mother's stare at his unscathed lunch, slowly picked it up. After taking a bite and feigning expressions and moans suggesting it had tasted really good, he whispered, "It doesn't… well. It doesn't explain why she's not been seen around for so long… Mom has…" his voice dropped as Emma flinched, knowing why she he had acted so. Gazing at his mother, and noticing she had gathered herself, and was waiting for him to continue, he began again, this time making sure she wouldn't cringe: "…_Regina," _he corrected, though saying his adoptive mom's name felt odd, "has rarely done something like _that_ unless she's…" His stomach suddenly growled, so he took a bite off his sandwich, and stopped speaking.

Emma's eyes slightly enlarged as Henry's silence persisted. "Unless what, kid?!" she questioned, then quickly noticed her voice had come off more alarmed than she had expected. Calming herself down (_why in the world was she anxious?), _she melted into a more relaxed position in her chair – pretending her voice hadn't picked in pitch.

While disregarding his belly's yearns for richer tasting food, Henry gazed up at his mother, and inadvertently cooped up an eyebrow at the concern glistening through her bright green eyes. Continuing, he finished what he had briefly stopped to say to soothe his hunger: "…Unless she's you know – _really really_ down or _really really_ angry and needs to think or something." He then took another bite from his sandwich, which rather tasted like plastic.

…_What?_

Could the woman designated as The Evil Queen ever be… _really really down—?_

"_Emma_? Can – we – uh –" Henry started, making Emma abruptly look around from the calendar she had found herself staring at unexpectedly to him. He was taking in a deep breath; his hesitancy to continue what he had commenced to ask was very evident. Upon studying his face further, she noted his eyebrows were furrowed, and his hazel eyes were ablaze with worry. _He calls you Emma. Just Emma,_ a wearisome thought then burst into her mind; nonetheless, she overlooked it when an intuitive feeling suddenly befell on her…

Henry needn't finish his words.

"Yeah kid," she sighed, her voice tender as she brushed his brown hair with her fingers. "We… uh… we _can_ go, I guess – if you want – and see her – only if you'd like to, that is," she stammered then paused, her hand fell from his hair to her side, intertwined with her other, and sat neatly on top of the table. When Henry had thought she had finished speaking, she added in a small whisper as she stared somewhere off in space: "But… um… I'm… I'm sure she's _fine_, kiddo."

Yet, Emma wasn't so sure if Regina was indeed _fine. _

While Emma had been staring at the calendar fixed to the fridge's door, she had found herself alarmed when she recalled the exact date of the notorious brunette's last appearance in town…

Then, she had calculated the days unconsciously…

And had realized precisely two weeks and four days had passed since then.

* * *

_Just turn around and go back. _

However, no matter how many thoughts akin to the one mentioned above had poured into Emma's head, her slim, pale hands had still been glued to the steering wheel as the evening light poured onto streets, for throughout the ride, Emma could not overlook the expression conveyed through her son's eyes – how they had been so anxious as he had stared out the window emptily, and wholly lost deep in thought.

Her eyes now gazed at the white mansion as it began to grow larger and larger as the distance between her bug and it lessened, and as the distance lessened Emma began to grow fidgety. She bit her lower lip as the aforementioned thought once more began to shackle her conscious: _Just turn around..._

_No_, she fought back.

Tilting her head slightly to her right, she dropped a smile at Henry, and couldn't help but notice a frown frolicking across his face as he continued to stare out the front window. So, she then asked a question – a question she had probed him with many times today: "Hey kid, are you… are you alright?"

It took a few seconds before Henry shook his head, all while appearing mesmerized by Regina's mansion.

"What is it kid?" Emma couldn't help but ask.

"The tree," he murmured meekly, pointing into the distance with his hazel eyes. "It's…" he tried to explain, but it suddenly felt as though something had been caught in his throat.

Emma took in a breath. She knew what he had been about to say. _Dying, I know, kid. The tree is dying, but maybe she's just been…you know… too lazy–_ but before she could finish her thought (a thought she had known had been quite foolish from its start, for the name Regina Mills coupled with lazy seemed virtually illegal), Henry had bolted out of her run-down vehicle.

"Henry?!" she yelped, hastily opening her side of the door to run after him.

She stepped out, and halted momentarily when – "_Oh_, great," she mumbled, looking up at the sky as sheets of rain began to fall from the grey clouds above.

When she reached the front porch, Henry was already punching his fists against the stately mansion's door. "Hey kid! Be patient! I'm sure she's coming." _Maybe. _

"Please… Please be okay _Mommy_," Emma heard his him cry before he yelled back deliriously, "My Mom's not opening the door! Di—Di—Did you do something to her?" His fists were still flying around as rain dampened his clothes and his backpack.

Emma began to kneel down to his level, her heart feeling heavy as she heard his pain-etched voice calling for the woman that had nursed him since he had been an infant.

_Mommy._

He had referred to Regina Mills as '_Mommy'_.

And was blaming her for... whatever the hell had caused the Evil Queen to confine herself within her home.

Upon reaching his height, she patted his shoulder a couple of time awkwardly, trying to soothe him while she heard him yelling the word _'Mommy'_ and '_Did you do something to her_?' again and again in the privacy of her mind. As she tried to fight the recollection off, she whispered to _her _son, still stooping low at his eye-level: "Hey, I've done nothing to hurt her, and I'm… I'm sure she's fine." _Maybe not, _she thought, as the door remained unanswered. "But, on the other hand, you're not going to be fine, kiddo, if you stand out here for long. You might catch a cold… or maybe pneumonia… " Catching pneumonia was unlikely, but still, she was trying to frighten him (and doing what she assumed a good mother should have been doing), though he made it clear it wasn't working, for he feigned ignorance to what she had been saying all along. Nonetheless, Emma persisted, "…So go back, kiddo, and sit in the car while I can knock on the—"

"_No, Emma!" _he yelled, interjecting, and immediately Emma knew the sting caused by _her_ son calling her just by her name while, on the other hand, having feverishly yelled '_Mommy'_ when he had been referring to Regina, was…well, was going to be hard to expunge. Nonetheless, she managed to listen to him through the entrapping spite: "It's been more than a few minutes, and it _doesn't_ seem like she's going to open the door. Something… " Emma heard her young boy suddenly try to catch his breath, but she was otherwise oblivious to the tears plummeting down his face, for the rain had drowned them out. After catching his breath, he finished, his voice breaking into pieces, "… Something is… Something is _really really_ wrong!"

She sighed, still completely oblivious of her son's sniffles. _Nothing's _really really_ wrong. Stop overreacting kiddo, _Emma thought gruffly, somewhat irritated. "Henry, do you have a key?" she then asked, as gently as she could through the bitterness she felt at his concern over _her. _

"I–uh–" he stammered, before his eyes slowly brightened. Then, in one blinding flash, he swung the knapsack off his back, and it and he dropped to the ground. Knees now firmly planted on his adoptive mom's porch, he began searching through his bag's contents while his birthmother watched from above, only hoping and praying (though she didn't believe in any deity) that he wouldn't have a key, so that they could then just turn around and lea—

_"Found it!_" Henry squealed, reeling Emma out of her thoughts, while holding a silver key high above him in the air and having lone knee pressed against the ground, as though he had stumbled on the finest of treasures.

Leaving his most adored possession, his bag – the bag _Regina _had bought – deserted on the ground, Henry rose up and commenced to anxiously open the door, while rain continued to saturate every inch of him and Emma.

"Let me do it, kid," the blonde offered after a few seconds, but Henry refused by remaining silent, and by continuing to plunge the key in and out of the keyhole.

Letting out a huff at his obstinacy (which oddly reminded Emma of Regina, though it was a fact she would never acknowledge), Emma repeated, "Henry, please – let me." Without waiting for a reply this time, she grabbed his small wrist, put a little pressure on it, and the key fell from his hold, landing on her pale palm. Nudging him to the side with her hip, she shoved the silver key into the keyhole without effort, and she understood, there and then, how nervous and anxious her son truly was.

Turning the key to the right, she heard a click.

It was a bit… _distressing_, knowing she would soon be stepping into the Evil Queen's house uninvited.

Turning around, facing Henry, who still wore large and anxious eyes, Emma hesitantly stated, "Um… kid, you should open the door, cause I am really _not_ in the mood of having a 'Trespassing Private Property' violation used on me."

"Fine," Henry hissed. He rubbed away dampened hair from his eyes while feeling slightly irritated by Emma for wasting time. Scramming towards the front door from her side, his small hand then hastily wrapped around the doorknob. And soon, a creak was heard while a pair of smaller and larger feet entered the abode, pressing against what had once been polished, sleek, and almost reflecting laminate floors.

On second thought, maybe Regina wasn't indeed _fine_.

* * *

**UPDATE: Author's Note (March 26,2013): **_I will be doing some research into myths and whatnot for this fic. I don't know how long it will take for me to gather my research and add what I've found into the vague plot-line I have in mind. But I don't want to be too hasty with the updates, as I don't want this story to turn out horrible due to poor planning. _

**Author's Note:**

_ So, there's the second chapter. I truly hope you enjoyed reading this segment. I apologize for the little cliffhanger there at the bottom. I'll be off to write the third chapter whenever ideas hit me. And again, if you have anything to say, please don't hesitate to review and leave feedback. I don't mind criticism as long as it is well formulated and is without malice. :) _

_Anyway – hope you're all having a great weekend! I've got tons of homework to catch up on, unfortunately, all thanks to procrastination._

**Replies to Guest Reviews:  
**

Guest 1: "_:-D so far SQ good!"_

Thank you!

Guest 2: "_Yay for magical baby! I always love pregnant Regina!"_

Haha, thanks! I love a pregnant Regina too, it's why I started this fic. :)

Irmgard:_ Great story so far. Could it be Emma's magical child with regina? Maybe Regina's dads ghost had something to do with it? Can hardly wait for next chapter_

Thank you Irmgard for the review. I'm glad you think this story is good so far, and I hope your views towards it remains so as it progresses. I won't fill you in on your questions, as that would ruin it, now wouldn't it? haha. But, your questions will be answered eventually.

Guest 3 : "_Great fanfic. Can't wait for more. When Emma will discover about the "paternity"?"_

Thank you! It will happen when it will happen, as to when - I'm not sure. However, it will happen (it must) eventually.

Guest 4: "_Please update soon. I am so curious now." _

Haha. Thanks for the review. Well, I updated! Hope you're satisfied by this chapter. :)

Love it: _"OMG please update soon! SO CURIOUS! Love it by the way ;)"_

Thank you for leaving a review! I hope your sentiments towards this fic remains so as it continues! :)


	4. And She Needed to Run

_Crap. Crap. Crap, so while I was updating this with the edited version, I accidentally updated a document I wrote in first person to kill my writer's block, so I'm sorry if you guys read that instead of this! _

* * *

**~ Chapter 3: And She Needed to Run ~**

The floor creaked as the two took cautious, bold steps onwards. Emerald and hazel eyes scurried around, observing their surroundings intently. The crystals of the chandelier that suspended from the celling casted shadows on the floors and walls. Henry took tentative steps to his right and found the switch that would awaken the chandelier. Their arms then instantly flung over their eyes as they adapted to their suddenly brighter setting.

Once their eyes were no longer sheltered, Emma began to gaze at the well-patterned wallpapers, the striking carvings on the crown moldings, and the cream baseboards that contrasted with the dark laminate floors. Henry had grown up here, in this dwelling, with all this luxury she would never be able to provide. Her days in foster care were suddenly evoked to mind; the bunk bed she had to share with a boy who'd sleep above her and always wet his bed; the clothes she had to wear from thrift shops, and how with yearning eyes she'd ogle through glass windows at outfits her female peers would wear at school…

_"Look at her clothes. What if I get aids if I touch her?" Tierra had mocked._

Clothes. Shoplifting clothes, it was how Emma had started to steal.

Those petty little crimes had matured until one day Emma had met her abettor: Neal.

And as the story goes, it ended with her giving away her son.

After turning away from an expensive little statue of a gargoyle she found herself gawking at, Emma met worried hazel eyes. Henry had just returned from searching the ground floor and was now standing by the spiral stairs, attempting to look for his adoptive mother on the floor above. She exhaled, began to take a few steps towards him, and upon nearing him, she clumsily bended down to meet his eye-level. "Umm… I really don't think she's here, kid," she stated, knowing that if the disreputable brunette had been at home, then she would have most unquestionably heard her scathing and sardonic comments, possibly followed by a few (or many) magical balls of fire.

Henry frowned and took in a deep, severe breath. "I understand, and know that you don't like her… but…" _she's still my mom. _His eyes downcasted, as he couldn't finish his words, for then he would be acknowledging that he was concerned, and _perhaps_ even loved the Evil Queen.

Meanwhile, Emma wrinkled her eyebrows when she spotted wet trails on Henry's face. _Were those..?_

_Oh. _

They were – they were tears.

Henry was crying, and she was clueless as to what to do.

"Hey kid, are you – are you… " Emma awkwardly began, stuttering, but her voice faltered when he abruptly turned away from her, feeling embarrassed by the tears that had been drenching his face since the front-door had stayed unanswered. "_Huh_… Hey! Hey, wait up!" she then yelled as he suddenly darted up the stairs, and after a slight moment of bewilderment spiraled by his reaction, she bolted after him.

Emma had seen the second floor only once – a year ago when Henry had dragged her to Storybrooke, informing her of how she was responsible for saving a whole town of fairytale characters. Obviously, she had been slightly distressed (maybe a lot) that her biological son had a few psychological issues that needed to be dealt with. Perhaps, she assumed, her genes were faulty (she wouldn't have been surprised). Nonetheless, when Henry had once more run away, and Regina had needed to find him, Emma had been invited to use the computer in Henry's room on the second floor (it was odd, remembering she had been once been invited here), and when Emma had gone to the second floor, she had kept secret her astonishment at how she had erroneously come to believe that she had seen the best of the mansion. However, at the same time, Emma couldn't help but have marveled if the many rooms – most of them unused – made one feel alone. They were like empty seashells, lifeless though beautiful, but held nothing within them. Maybe, Emma had then supposed, if this mansion had harboured a few more people, perhaps a family of three or four, it wouldn't have appeared so forlorn and depressing.

And the same feeling crept within her right now as she marched through the hallway – a hallway that was quite long, and Emma speculated if marching up and down the stairs, through the hallways, and around the rooms of the mansion was what kept Regina so fit _and _se– Emma quickly halted her thoughts, knowing where they were heading.

Nevertheless, it was undeniable. Regina was very much – the blonde gulped – _sexy_.

And Emma had often times found herself self-conscious when around the brunette – though it was a fact she would never confess to anyone or herself, for that matter.

She heard a sudden creak, and her thoughts stopped to a still. Swiftly, she turned around to where it had issued, and found a half-open door – was Regina there? _Oh crap! _But she soon let out a relieved sigh: It was just Henry, as she spotted a trail of water leading to the room. Exhaling once more in relief, Emma felt grateful, knowing there would be no magical fireballs flung at her tonight.

Gradually, she strode towards the room Henry was occupying and muttered as she reached the door, "Hey, kid? Are you okay?"

He didn't respond.

Sighing, she stopped at the threshold, leaned near the doorframe, and her eyes instantly widened as she took in the sight before her. There were paintings, many of them, some horrible and awful as though a child had created them, while others were beautiful – almost surreal; each stroke on the canvases (painted in what appeared to the most expensive of paints) brought the pictures to life, as though they were previews of other magnificent worlds just waiting to be discovered.

"Wow… this… " Emma whispered, at a loss for words. "I wasn't expecting to see all this."

Henry's fingers were drumming against a glass-shielded canvas. Within the glass frame, there was a painting of Spiderman in one of his signature poses. Only, this Spiderman was short, slightly chubby, and familiar hazel eyes were exposed through his disguise.

A feeble chuckle left Emma's lips. "Kid – was that painted by you?" But as she asked the question, she wished she never had.

"Yeah, but she finished it for me," he whispered, then clarified, "I used to like Spiderman, and I tried painting him with my… Mom one day, but I gave up. We…" he took in a sigh, "…we would always paint together." He cleared his throat, and returned to the topic at hand: "So, like I said, she continued it for me, and gave it to me as a present on my eighth birthday. Here, look, you can see some of the mistakes I did…" he tapped his fingers on the glass, trying to show some of the areas he had painted, areas Emma couldn't see from where she stood, "… but, I guess you can't really tell."

Emma found herself mute and unable to speak.

It was hard, unimaginable visualizing _her_ painting something of that sort – or painting at all for that matter – then giving it as a present to her son.

_My son._

Henry turned around, hazel eyes waiting for a response.

"Oh. _I see_," was all she could choke out, as she wrapped her arms around her chest, feeling uncomfortable and cold as she cleared her throat. "_Well_ – I don't think she's here, kid," she declared, about to turn away from the room when she suddenly spotted a canvas half-covered with a sheet in the distance. Intrigued, her feet slowly rotated and she commenced to march towards the painting, passing Henry and the portrait of his seven-year old-self as Spiderman.

When she reached the canvas, Emma could tell that it hadn't been touched or seen in months or maybe years. It was seated on a small table next to an ornate decoration, not even hung, and almost appeared as though it had been discarded there, as if it was an unsightly thing to look at.

"Mom never finished that one. It was her … last painting," she heard a whisper in the background as she removed the thin, cotton fabric from the painting, then held the canvas at an arm's length to regard it.

It was beautiful.

No, it was not beautiful, for it was more than that. Describing what Emma beheld with her emerald eyes was ineffable. There was one stallion next to the empty white of the canvas – where another stallion should have been, and the stallion painted was riding through vividly green, lush fields.

It was hard to believe that _she _had so much … so much soul.

But that was absurd. An absurd thought. Regina was soulless, of that Emma was sure.

Emerald eyes continued to gaze at the painting, observing each stroke, wondering what had gone through the mind of the owner when her skillful hands had painted the scene.

"Why did she stop?" Emma mumbled, revolving around to face where she expected to see Henry. However, she was met with an empty room and a portrait of her seven, almost eight-year-old son as Spiderman. After dropping the canvas back where it had been, she walked out of the room and began to follow wet streams, finding the boy in another half-open room – the Master Bedroom.

"Henry?!" Emma called, pushing the door until it was fully open. "We better go, kid. It's pretty obvious your Mo– _she's_ not here. She's probably somewhere outside – and I'm sure she won't appreciate the puddles we're leaving on the floors. So let's–"

Emma stopped speaking when she spotted Henry. He was stooped low, and was about to pick up crushed paper lying beside Regina's wooden, ornate desk. His hands trembled as he unfolded the paper and smoothed the creases. "What – what is this?" he then mumbled, his eyebrow lifting as he stared at the paper before him.

Curious by what Henry was viewing, she walked towards him, and knelt down. Henry then handed over the paper – which she quickly realized was in fact a photograph, and suddenly, there was silence.

There was blood-curdling silence.

A second darted by, and within that second, emerald eyes widened while hazel eyes watched them intently.

Then, another second – maybe two passed by, and within that second – maybe two, emerald eyes widened even more while hazel eyes began to brim with confusion and anxiety.

Another second scurried by, and two sets of lips parted open, each representing another feeling, while the pale pair of hands holding the photograph started to quiver.

"What is it?" Henry ultimately asked, his voice barely above a breath.

Emma cleared her throat, and tried to compose herself as best as she could while she rose from the ground. Shaking her head, she muttered, "Nothing kiddo, let's go," and began to walk unsteadily towards the door as she folded the photograph and plunged it into the front-pocket of her dark jeans.

"Emma? What's in the picture?" Henry called after her, unrelenting while he walked in tow, but his query remained unanswered.

When the two reached the front door downstairs, and Henry turned off all the lights he had ignited, Emma began to ponder of times she wished to forget.

Times of despair...

Times when all had seemed bleak…

So bleak, Emma had even contemplated ending a life...

_Henry's life._

* * *

_An Hour Prior..._

It was set then, today would be the day where the words _Happily Ever After _would at last be written after their trivial, little life stories.

Except for hers, of course.

Bare feet pressed against cold floors. Regina neared her walk-in closet, opened the door and entered the magnificently large room. There were clothes, all designer and each more costly than the other, hung and ironed, all organized neatly, for being organized was a trait that had been hard to forget after being whipped, beaten and scolded for not cleaning up after herself as a child.

After finding a blouse, a pair of conservative black trousers while recalling the outlandish attire she had worn when the title 'Queen' had been written before her name – her wretched name, Regina held a pair of Johnny Choo's and sat down on a near sofa, putting them on hastily – too hastily. She winced as her nails dug into the skin of her ankle.

Her makeup still needed to be attended to.

Now before her dresser, she gradually sat down and gazed at herself in the mirror – the words 'Mirror mirror on the wall,' nearly slipped through her lips as she looked there. She flinched, just slightly, when she observed her appearance, but was not surprised by the bags underneath her eyes and her hollowed face. Regina hadn't eaten well for days, and whatever she consumed would be flung out of her system, for even her own body had begun to deceit her.

Even now she could feel bile running up her throat.

But that would be taken care of soon.

Very soon.

Her trembling hands suddenly smeared her eyeliner and she cursed, flinging the black kohl away to the other side of the room. Her hands rubbed her forehead, then she let her face lean into them briefly while restrained tears almost stung her eyes. Taking in a breath, she wiped the smudge near her right eye with eye-makeup removal, and the cold liquid caused a shiver to run down her spine. Upon concealing her newly formed eye-bags and completing the rest of her makeup routine, she studied herself: The Evil Queen was glaring back, though her eyes weren't painted with black kohl, which caused her red eyelids to reveal – but Regina's hands were quivering, too shaky to keep them clandestine.

As she was about to turn around, her shirt caught her notice. She still had her shirt on – the silken top of her pajamas, and as for how she had forgotten to change into her blouse, she did not remember. _Only vile and wicked girls lie, Regina, _her mother's voice suddenly rang in her mind, and though it was cold, detached and hateful, Regina missed her voice and marveled over how her mother would have sounded if she had been in possession of her heart.

_Only vile and wicked girls lie, Regina, _the voice once more repeated, her mother's heartless voice.

_Wicked. _Oh yes – that she had become.

Taking in a ragged breath, off-putting the voice or thoughts or whatever demon was in her mind, Regina rose, found the blouse left deserted on the ground, and arched down to grab it.

Upon unbuttoning her blouse, her bare skin disclosed.

She felt cold.

Her black brassier sat snug against her breasts, and her nipples felt sore. Regina had wanted to take her brassieres off for the past… god knows how many days she had cooped herself within her home, but she wouldn't surrender to her body's pleas, for then she would have to behold a sight she was not ready to see...

However, it was too late.

She was before a door-length mirror, her ebony eyes were wide, her hands were skidding down, already – already heading there, and soon her fingers shyly touched the slight swell that had formed throughout her lower abdomen, feeling it, pressing it, while she wondered if the being beneath would feel its impending death–

Her head wrung away from the mirror and she knelt down to grab the blouse, because her mind was set, this had to end – this overpowering suffocation– she needed to be freed.

Freedom.

Whatever was there, on the other end, would be better than this. She was sure. And she was determined today – Regina always attained what she yearned. She then chuckled, her Daddy had taught her that: To be determined.

Walking out of her in-door closet, Regina was ready – her coat in hand, but she realized she wasn't in possession of her phone. While checking her pockets, she wondered if she had already put it one of them, but her notion was proved wrong. After looking through various places, she walked towards her desk and opened one of its drawer when –

_Oh._

The grainy, black and white picture of the ultrasound taken weeks ago was staring back at her.

Her hands began to quiver – quiver more than they had before. Not knowing why, she picked the picture up, and stared at it for a good minute or two. The little thing – _that thing _– was alive and within her – and to be ended soon.

A silver tear dripped down her cheeks, and her hands trembled. "I'm sorry. I can't… " Regina whispered, as her slender hands began to crush the picture before letting it drop to the floor. She then turned around and walked, _no_ marched out her bedroom's door, knowing that her decision had to come to fruition today – her last kill had to be committed before her own demise–

She smirked at the thought: It was the anniversary of her birth, and would ironically be of her death as well (_no, the death of two)._

Regina loved ironies.

A dry chuckle left her lips as the evening and fading sunrays danced against her dark locks. She was heading to the hospital for one last time, to take care of this little _affliction_ before finishing her life – like her apple tree's.

They had been life-long friends after all, and it only made sense for one to not outlive the other for long.

* * *

There was a being within her.

And he – she – no _it, _Regina corrected, was…

_Alive_.

Her slender fingers were seated on the steering wheel as she drove through the dim, shadowy streets of Storybrooke. She squinted, trying to make sense of where she was heading by use of the feeble streetlights of the backwater town. In the distance, her dark eyes could spot a large sign: The sign had a blue backdrop with one lone letter – printed in white – the letter H – growing larger and larger as she drove near it. She was nearing her destination. Shortly, she found herself in front of large, grey building she had left roughly two weeks ago.

_Alive_.

_Stop it,_ she ordered herself.

Regina had taken many hearts, had felt them thump and beat within her hold before she had crushed them into particles of dust – had witnessed her father's heart burn in blazing, red flames, and so, for the life of her, she could not fathom why on this certain occasion she... cared.

_No_. She didn't.

_Only vile and wicked girls lie, Regina._

Upon leaving her sleek Mercedes, the wind felt so unusual and strange as it wafted past her, touched her skin, and unfixed her hair. The breeze was calm, not too forceful, and yet it had a vigorous hold on her form – she had not eaten for days. Regina pushed herself, marching with as much as might as she could fester as she reached the entrance, and abruptly halted there.

Now standing still at the threshold, Regina noted the entry to this region of the hospital was closed, though that was expected, and had been in fact anticipated. Only the passes to the emergency and a few others wards were open during this time of night.

A relieved breath was inhaled through her red-stained lips.

A relieved breath was then exhaled.

All was proceeding as planned – or so it seemed.

Shuddering, she clenched her unbuttoned coat tighter against her form, making sure her hands did not venture down to the skin above her womb. Dipping her free hand into her pocket, she retrieved her phone, and dialed a number. Soon, her cell-phone was concealed by her dark hair and pressed firmly against her ear. "_Hello?!" _she bellowed, and did not linger to wait for a response. "The door is locked, Dr. Whale," she stated, coolly, trying to keep her voice from breaking into splinters. "Last I remember, you had clearly informed me that you would already be here, awaiting my presence."

From the other line, an expected shaky voice responded: "Yes – Yes. I apologize. I will be there in less than a minute, Mayor Mills!"

She huffed: Humans.

They could be so easily tweaked, tugged, pulled and used.

Without exiting the call with another word, her thumb rubbed against her phone's keypad, until her manicured nail found and pressed a certain button, terminating the call. Once the phone was back in her pocket, her midnight eyes gazed at a miserable, tattered and worn sign behind the entrance's automatic glass doors: _Welcome to Storybrooke Hospital,_ it read.

So, here she was again – only, this time with purpose: To undo what should have never been.

She shuddered from the cold atmosphere, and her hands instantly plunged into the pockets of her unbuttoned, Louis Vuitton trench coat. "Goddamn," she whispered, blaming her quivering form on the weather, though it was not as cold as she suspected. She then began to search, making sure not a soul was in sight, and was shortly comforted to find not a single shadow dancing upon the ground, when suddenly –

"Ma – Mayor Mills?!" A masculine voice pierced the silent surrounding, triggering her to slightly flinch, before realization of whom it belonged to settled into her awareness.

Upon whirling her attention from the distance she had been inertly staring at, Regina commenced to stare aloofly at the familiar face of Dr. Whale. "I am not hard-of-hearing, Dr. Whale," she hissed.

Dr. Whale, whom was standing behind the entrance, whispered weakly, "I.. I'm sorry, Mayor Mills," and began to contemplate if her tone had denoted an ill-omened consequence.

As the doctor remained stationary, awaiting her entrance, Regina began to push herself forwards.

... It was hard.

But all Dr. Whale spotted, heard and witnessed were her Johnny Choo's clicking and clacking against the footpath – only detecting her façade of strength.

Without greeting him, she continued to march into the building, while the mask of detachment and impassiveness was securely positioned. Dr. Whale, meanwhile, watched the glass doors as they unfastened and let, what outwardly appeared to be the notorious Evil Queen, into the warm interior of the still and hushed hospital.

And yet, once inside the building, Regina still felt cold.

So bone-chilling cold.

The Evil Queen halted before him, her heels stilled against the white tiles, and her arms intertwined as she lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow, while the woman within her craved to shiver. "_Well?_" she drawled, tilting her head slightly, clearly showing her displeasure at him for dawdling and wasting time.

While trying his best to avoid flinching from the hawk-like glared emitted from her empty, ebony eyes, he responded, stuttering, "Please – Please follow me, Madam Mayor," then raised his hand, and pointed down the hallway to the elevators at the very end.

Regina stared at the elevators briefly. The lights were off, and she could hardly see them. All she could see was a dark path – white tiles turning dimmer and dimmer, until nothing but obscurity was perceivable. Her pulse then began to beat faster, her gut tossed and stirred – yet she nodded, prompting Dr. Whale to move first.

And as she commenced to follow Dr. Whale, a certain word drummed within her mind.

The particular word being:

_Alive_.

* * *

_"Emma, are you okay?"_

_"Emma, speak to me!"_

_"Emma, where were you today?"_

Her parents wanted answers while Emma wanted to crouch down, crawl towards her bedroom upstairs, but instead, like the grown woman she was (she reminded herself, she was an adult) she remained silent while the image of the ultrasound was wedged in her mind. Henry, likewise, remained hushed by her side, not comprehending what it was that had overcome the blonde, but knowing it had something to do with the picture (he had yet to figure out what the peculiar alien-like shape denoted) he had stumbled on back in his mother's bedroom at the mansion.

And as for Emma, she too couldn't fathom what had overcome her.

Why did she frankly care about what Regina did with her unborn infant?

Yet, Emma did care, and though not understanding the reasoning behind it, she felt the need to run. Running: It was what she had always done when she was overwhelmed and wanted to bury herself under gravel.

"David–James–Dad," she began, finding her voice, still not quite used to addressing her parents as 'Mom' and 'Dad. "Henry was just worried–"

"_Henry?_" Snow suddenly cried, and hastily looked down at the boy with her red-rimmed eyes.

Snow White had been crying.

Emma inhaled sharply, knowing her mother had been weeping due to the growing feeling of guilt that had been consuming her essence, ever since the day Cora had died – been murdered. As she watched her mother's red-rimmed eyes, she yearned to shake her – tell her to get past it, that it was pointless weeping over a woman who deserved nothing but death; yet, all she could do was watch Snow's dulled eyes regard her son. "Henry, are you okay?" Snow asked tenderly, while the cup of coffee James had brewed was held within her hands – and Emma could tell the liquid had remained untouched.

Emerald eyes looked away.

"Hey guys, really – nothing's wrong," Emma then began while she walked towards the kitchen, and commenced to look through the cupboards for any sort of alcoholic beverage. "Henry overreacted a bit. And by the way, you two are as well," she continued from across the room as she found what she had been looking for. Gazing back at Snow who stood by Henry's side by the front-door, she said with a large bottle of whiskey in hand, "The kid just assumed something had occurred to Regina – "

"_What?!_ – What happened to Regina?" Snow interjected, her notice immediately darting away from Henry (who had taken off his wet jacket and knapsack) to her daughter.

Emma's lips were now fastened around the rim of the bottle, while the warm liquid drizzled down her throat. James neared her, snatched the bottle of liquor off her hands, and whispered, "Henry's watching," before he audibly said in a tender though stern voice, "I think you know something Emma – something you better disclose."

Ire, for some reason, began to drum through Emma's veins while she brushed her hair with a trembling hand. "David – Mary Margaret," she said, briefly forgetting their real names, "you two haven't been in my life for almost three decades, and I've been fine." Hurt instantly exposed through James' and Snow's eyes upon hearing those words, making Emma wish she could take them back, but it was too late and she had unfortunately meant them too. "So please," she resumed to speak, "leave me alone."

Her feet then began to move on their own accord. Emma was sauntering towards the closet by the front-door, and was almost on auto-pilot mode as she grabbed her red-leather jacket, but upon noticing three pairs of eyes ogling at her in bewilderment and concern, she had to explain: "I'm just going outside. I'll be back..."

"When?" she heard a thin voice – a voice not belonging to Snow or James – a voice belonging to Henry.

Emma took in a deep breath while feeling his burning stare against her skin. "Soon, kid," she then mumbled, though she didn't know how soon, as she was planning to drive to Boston, for she needed a break – a change of scenery.

And she needed to run.

* * *

**Author's Note (April 1, 2013): **Looked over it for errors and altered some sentences, but there may be a few mistakes still there that have gone unnoticed.

**Author's Note:**

Another cliffhanger – I know. Sorry, I love writing them (though I hate them when I'm in the reader) So, I had planned on plotting this story (still am, actually) but I'm also letting the characters take me where they want. I just finished this now, looked over once or twice for any mistakes and I plan on posting it now, because y'know, I have some PMs asking me to. And I'll look over the chapter again for mistakes later on.

Also, I wish I could say I was proud of this chapter, but I'm not. I don't know. I liked some of the stuff I wrote, but the others – erm, not so much. Nonetheless, I hope you guys view what I've written with a different view (a bit of a nicer perspective).

Hope you all had a great Easter Sunday and are having a great Easter Monday (I don't celebrate these holidays, but I do eat a lot of egg-shaped chocolates).

**Replies to Guest Reviews: **

_Guest 1: Aw man, that cliffhanger's killing me! What is it? What's wrong? Why's she being so weird? I mean, I get the pregnancy thing, but really? Is she dead? Or just non-magical or something? _  
_I can't wait for the next chapter! Please update ASAP!_

Well, there's the answer to what's wrong with Regina (its subtly mentioned between the lines). And I'm so sorry for the cliffhanger I've just left you with. I hope you're still alive since you mentioned the last one was killing you (I kid). Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter!

_Guest 2: Great chapter! I can't wait to read more._

Thank you! I hoped you liked this one too.

_Guest 3: The first 3 chapters were AMAZING! I can't wait for more! I love baby fic and your writing is perfect !_

Thank you so so much! I hope this chapter held up to the pedestal.

_Guest 4: Please, I hope Regina is doing well. Love this fanfic._

Thank you for the review! And sorry, Regina isn't doing so well. But I hope you still like this chapter... :(


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